


Because your Happiness is my Happiness

by KillingKathy



Category: Nabari no Ou
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-06
Updated: 2013-11-06
Packaged: 2017-12-31 15:29:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1033317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KillingKathy/pseuds/KillingKathy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Miharu has never really thought of death until he met Yoite, and how it's one of the top things that's always on his mind, mainly because seeing Yoite everyday reminds him of that fact-That eternity is never a possibility, and Miharu is going to live a long, full life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Because your Happiness is my Happiness

_it wasn't snowing yet, but they'd told us it would._

_probably i said something infantile, about how_

_i could smell it, the frostiness of snowflakes in the_

_air, because you smiled that knowing smile of yours,_

_like you were an adult and i was a child and you_

_didn't have the heart to take my innocence away._

Winters are the time when Yoite pulls down the shallow brim of his hat and exhales deeply, closing his eyes against the snowflakes that were still falling into his face despite all that, and all Miharu can think, staring at him unknown through the cold flakes, was how dark the contrast between his eyelashes and his skin were, and the stunning curve of his pale mouth against the dull sunlight that was illuminating through the slight break in the trees.

Winters are the time when Yoite gets the sickest, and the sight of crinkled, jagged, sharp silver edges are frequent appearances, along with the sound of his hacking cough and trembling fingers, clutching his pills so tightly that his bones were taunt even through his gloves.

Miharu is no saint. And Yoite knows that. Yoite knows, and somehow, still stays with him anyway. A Boy who can't have kindness and A Boy who can't afford kindness

Both of them are parts of a crooked, strange whole, and Miharu can't piece it together despite all his efforts.

Winters are the time when Yoite's familiar black trench coat re-appears, along with the hat always on top of his raven hair, and sometimes Miharu briefly wonders if he gave Yoite a new hat for Christmas, if the boy would accept it, or throw it away.

.

_that look always made my heart smile, sadly, and_

_it also drove me up a wall, partly because it made_

_me want to hug you close and pity you the_

_burden of assumed moral superiority, and whisper_

_that you, too were a child. but mostly because you_

_were right— i was a child, and i hated being_

_wrong, and i clung to my naiveté while you, you_

_had already had the good sense to push it away._

_it followed you around with sad puppy eyes, but_

_you knew it and you kept it at arm's length._

you brave, brave soul.  
Miharu had no idea how old Yoite was. Nineteen, Sixteen, maybe-because he himself is no older that what he pretends to be and honestly, why does age matter anyway?

One of the strangest things that Miharu would laugh at on the rare days when he was alone-was the fact that he himself never ever talked, and never ever felt like talking-to Reimei or the others, but with Yoite, he wanted to talk. To let the boy know about himself, and more than anything, to know about Yoite, to crack him open like a eggshell and examine the content inside, to read him like a book or a picture, but that couldn't happen because there was a bronze lock on everything that even a key of sterling silver couldn't unlock.

And sometimes, when Miharu pushes Yoite down onto a bed, pressing a soft kiss to the boy's temple, it's bitterly inhuman and cold, and sometimes when he kisses him gently on the lips, the boy's eyes are open, glazed over and emotionless, and Miharu wants to call 'hey, I'm here' but he wasn't sure if Yoite saw him at all.

Sometimes he wonders if he himself is real or something dreamed up by Yoite in subtle sparks of gold and black.

.

_when it did start to snow i wasn't surprised. you_

_were, i think. you didn't say anything. we were in_

_a deserted school hallway, listening, removed_

_from the other kids' cries of delight. we were_

_delighted too, but the others wanted to run home_

_from school early, and we knew the definition_

_of home better than they. i can speak only for_

_myself but it seemed we both wanted only to stay_

_forever side by side, tucked away in our corner,_

_me reveling in the softness of love and friendship_

_and winter, you trying to be there with me but having_

_trouble leaving your mind, where that sad-eyed_

_puppy snapped at your heels._

_but you held your own._

There was one rainy day in the middle of April when Yoite and Miharu just sat there against the paper door, fingers slightly touching-not enough to be considered intimacy and not far enough to be considered stoic

(But that's a conversation for another time)

While rain falls, tinkling on the roof above them, and Miharu closing his eyes and humming to himself,

Yoite is watching him intently, a hint of something that seemed like sadness and a strange sickening mixture of content, and more than once, he opens his mouth to say something,

Reaches out a always-gloved hand

But always stops halfway through, and Miharu never sees.

And finally, it's Yoite who gets up first and heads back inside, and Miharu looking back at him with a puzzled look on his face, and starting to follow him,

But the paper door slides shut

A sound that Miharu thinks is the loneliest noise in the world

.

_and slowly, we built up moments like this one._

_we wallowed in each other and in the coziness_

_of cloudy days. we read good poetry and_

_heard good music and took photographs as we_

_discussed life from our softer world._

_or at least mine was._

_there were moments of such pure white happiness_

_that they came full circle to being sad again,_

_simply because i knew i would never be that_

_happy again, and i was not wrong. and we had_

_sad moments, too, never ever think i am not_

_happy to be sad with you.._

Miharu can count on his hands the number of times that he has seen Yoite smile, more out of his own self-awareness as human companion, and partly out of pure insecurity.

So when he goes to ask Raikou the number of times Yoite has smiled it's surprising when Raikou shrugs and says never

Maybe Yoite didn't mind him as much as he thought he did.

And each year, he is growing taller, and can only helplessly watch as Yoite grows even thinner than he is-a feat Miharu would have thought impossible-

And he wonders if the reason Yoite collapsed so much was not because of the 'Kira', but because he didn't eat enough.

There was one time when he went to the nearby store to buy some food, when he saw a small camera in the aisle right next to his, and despite himself, he was curious, gripping the plastic straps of the grocery bag tighter and walking towards it.

There was a shiny glossy advertisement over it-and Miharu skimmed over it languidly-and there was one sentence that caught him the most.

'Keep pictures of your loved ones and make a moment last for eternity'

Eternity.

Miharu has never really thought of death until he met Yoite, and how it's one of the top things that's always on his mind, mainly because seeing Yoite everyday reminds him of that fact-

That eternity is never a possibility

And Miharu is going to live a long, full life.

He buys the camera.

.

_and slowly, too, your innocence knew its_

_defeat, and sat obediently at your feet,_

_and we shared things. i learned of your life_

_and the suffering you carry with you every day,_

_for yourself and for so incredibly many others._

_but i was a child, and a weak one at that, and_

_G-d knew i was not as strong as you so He_

_gave me no great suffering to speak of, to_

_share with you. no way to reciprocate the_

_vulnerability you gave, and that in_

_itself was suffering for me._

There was once a line that Miharu once heard-something along the lines of "God once walked down a line of people and handed a plaque to few, giving them the 'right' to complain."

And he wonders briefly if Yoite was one of the few who got a plaque, and one of those who turned it down-because in all this time, he has never heard the other complain, not even once, not even when coughing fits became so violent that a salty trickle of blood was all that was familiar,

When the world became sharp and blurry in a beautiful, dizzying way

And even the most flavorful, vibrant tastes were bleak and dull on his tongue. Yet Yoite could speak with such eloquence, and a platonic face saying "I'm fine" again and again and again so much that it must've become a chore.

There was once a story that Miharu had to read for school, burying his nose in it on the way home so that he wouldn't have to read it later, and Yoite was with him, a shadow wraith by his side, head down and bowed, silence coming from his mouth. And slowly, Miharu began to read aloud, punctuating each one of his words with a clarity that seemed so alien, weaving a tale about a titan named "Atlas" and how he held the world up on his bare shoulders, and Yoite let out a faint breath, exhaling while his thin frame trembled, and asked 'how would that be possible'

And Miharu's only answer, lost in thought on that road lit in sunset, was-' Gods are stronger than we are.'

Yoite was silent after that, tugging on his end of the scarf, sometimes asking Miharu to repeat lines.

So if anyone saw them walking, two boys, so different in every aspect, one clad in plaid and crisp white, the other draped with heavy, mourning black, with the phrase And the titan Atlas held the world up with his hands floating behind them, a whisper on the wind, they must've thought something along the lines of

"Children grow up too quickly"

(But all the same, saving a boy who he was only with for the sake of hypocrisies counts as pretty committed, so he guesses he was already gone.)

.

_i regret that i was not good at saying things._

_i couldn't share them, but i was not strong_

_enough to deal with them myself, so that while_

_you had to be your own adult and push childhood_

_away, i clung hopelessly to mine as, bit by bit,_

_i discovered who i was and watched it slip_

_from the grasp of my small hands._

Every word starts with a breath, and each breath is a sign of living. So every time Yoite exhales, inhales, his thin chest trembling with the effort, Miharu feels a spark of hope, however futile, that Yoite is living at this moment, and he doesn't want to think about the future-think about the time when a boy named Yoite will not exist anymore, and when Miharu won't even have the yearly ritual of placing a lavender lily on a gray, worn tombstone-a bitter remembrance, because there'll be nothing left then.

Just a rocky, forlorn hill, against a burning sunset, bright and brilliant, with two thin silhouettes leaning against the trunk of a pecan tree, watching the crimson and lavender leaves scatter with a breath of fall.

The locked memories in Miharu's head sometimes ache, throbbing with the insistence of a child, and it's times like this that he hates growing up, hates learning about that feeling called pain, because then categories fall perfectly into place, fall into organized boxes with each feeling and word-and maybe he could've called pain beautiful, and ethereal, but because he is educated, and he knows-there's no possibility for that anywhere.

For Yoite, no matter how many times he tried prying open the boy's mind, shelling it like a ripened walnut or pistachio, it's always a closed abyss, one that Miharu is scared to venture into, for what he might learn and see, changing his image of Yoite, the definition set so clearly in his mind.

.

_among the plethora of reasons i can give for_

_bitterly hating the sun, one of them is the_

_way it slanted through the window and lit_

_up your eyes and swilled particles around_

_your face like fairy dust on the day you reached_

_out and pulled my lanyard over your own neck._

_look, you said, content. almost proud._

_i'm wearing a bit of you around my_

_neck, and you wove it through your_

_sunlit fingers, eyes bright. you tugged on it,_

_lightly. that's what love does, it strangles_

_you. yet we all want it._

Every time Miharu pulls the window blinds open, letting in even the slightest ray of sun, Yoite instinctively shields, going back into his own isolated corner, clutching the woolen scarf around him with skeletal fingers, and Miharu wants more than anything to join him there, take Yoite's trembling hands in his own, and caress life into the dead, black fingers, and say words of positive joy and laughter, so that Yoite would smile again for him, eyelashes fluttering haphazardly in rhythm to nothing.

Reimei's laughter is a piercing, bright sound, one so metallic and sharp that Miharu sometimes wants to cover his ears and cringe at the feeling of genuine happiness that the girl radiated. Tobari's laugh is deep and full, so much that Miharu can feel it resonating in his chest.

("This chair is too soft," Goldilocks said)

But Yoite's laugh is a breath of wind or ice, cold and soft, a dusting of fleeting snow on Miharu's ears, lingering and caressing for just a moment. And Miharu wants to hear more. Hear if the snow of his voice has a metallic tang to it, hear if the warmth of his voice resonated in his chest, hear if Yoite's laugh sounded just like him, cold, and lonely.

Yoite once said that Miharu was more dead than he was, and maybe that was true, in a sense-because the only mark that humans leave are scars, and Miharu wants to make his footprints as light as they can.

But Yoite does that already, without even trying.  
.  
 _and i, i was a fool, a childish fool,_

_and i gasped at the way that word sounded,_

_so harsh in such beautiful sunlight on such_

_a soft face. but i don't want to strangle_

_you. i said that. thoughtlessly,_

_instinctively. i regret it every day. in that regard,_

_you gave me the strength to grow up and deal_

_with suffering of my own, albeit of a smaller_

_scale— you are an incredibly strong person._

Miharu remembers the first time that he tried coffee, stealing a sip out of Yukimi's china cup the moment the man walked out the door of his study. The taste was strong and bitter, lingering on his tongue, and he ran to the sink, spitting the drink out and gagging. And no matter how many times he brushed his teeth, the taste was still there, mocking and revolting.

When he kissed Yoite goodnight, gently tilting his lips against the others, he felt Yoite stir slightly, and he wondered if he tasted the aftertaste of the coffee too. But Yoite tastes like lemons and gritty pills, a strange combination that seemed to make perfect sense in Miharu's mind.

I love you I love you I love you

So much that it was almost scary, the amount of attachment he had to a person who was already too far gone. Sometimes he wondered what he meant to Yoite, if the only reason the boy kept him by his side was because of the erasing that was inevitably going to happen, or if he genuinely liked Miharu's company. Considering Yoite's dead-panned expression, Miharu guesses the former.

And there was that one time in the hospital bed, when Yoite was screaming about someone named Sora, and reaching out his hand desperately to something, whimpering Where are you

And Miharu took the hand and cried-I'm here! But Yoite didn't know him, didn't recognize him anymore, still lost in the world of Sora, and started crying, eyes half open to the world, and it was such a pitiful, weak sight that Miharu screamed It's not Fair

And ran out of the room, with Yoite still staring blankly at the wall, tears still pouring down his cheeks, arm reached out to nothing.

Because Yoite was always strong, stronger than he was, and any sign of weakness, after the heavy duvet of his senses were lifted was a bolt of pain and weakness for Miharu too.

.

_vulnerability is weakness, i thought. but_

_it is strength, it is love. it is terrifying. when your_

_ache tugged and tugged at you, tore you from_

_reality, or brought you closed to it, it slipped its_

_finger into that lanyard knot. loosened it. how_

_easily (or maybe not that easily at all) i could have_

_reached out right then, as you had when first you_

_pulled the sun-soaked string over your head, and_

_tightened it. tightened us. been a friend._

_loved louder._

The scarf that Hana knitted for Yoite was warm and heavy, and Miharu knows that because once Yoite wrapped it around him on a cold winter day on the wooden porch in front of Tobari and Hana's house, holding him close, but in indifference, (It was always like that though wasn't it)

And counting the unorganized spill of stars above was a tedious chore, but one that passed time, so Miharu counted them with Yoite, both settling into a steady rhythm of 1, 2, 3, with Miharu saying the even, and Yoite saying the odd, but after 300, Miharu started lagging, falling asleep on Yoite's shoulder, and unknown to him, the boy hesitantly drew a gloved hand around the younger boy's shoulder and held him tight against the wind, still counting by himself quietly-301…303…305…not saying the evens, because that was Miharu's job.

And when the sun rose slightly over the horizon again, Yoite had fallen asleep too, head resting on top of Miharu's. When Hana went outside to clean the porch, she found them there, asleep, and opened her mouth slightly to say a 'good morning', but then thought better of it and went back inside, getting a thick futon that she wrapped around them both, adding more warmth to their small huddle. And when Miharu finally woke, there was a butterfly on Yoite's hat, brilliant and yellow, wings fluttering in a chaotic rhythm. He started at the butterfly for awhile, then finally relented and blew it off, the cloth of Yoite's hat dipping under his breath as the butterfly opened its wings and flew away.

.

_you were too strong to cry outside, and i tried so_

_hard, too hard, to suppress the instinct that told me_

_you needed to be hugged, cradled, held not by an_

_adult nor by a child but by a friend. i thought what_

_if that's not me? and i didn't tug the knot for fear of_

_pulling it apart altogether. if you run. when you run,_

_i know that two grown dogs (mine and yours. always)_

_will follow after you, blocked_

_from the sun by your receding shadow._

The snow was falling over the town, the misted lanterns glowing faintly under the debris of white, and all Miharu could feel were the steel bars under his numb fingers as he ran towards the still shape that was limp and unmoving against the top of the staircase.

When he did reach him, he thoughtlessly took those hands in his, pleading

"Yoite! I don't want you to disappear-stay alive, we could stay together forever, Yoite! I'll use the Shinrabanshino!" He cried

The boy's reply was slow in coming, stuttered and slow, words half slurred through fatigue and cold. "Even in the world of Nabari, I've...killed so many people-that's why..."

Miharu shook his head rapidly, squeezing Yoite's hand even harder and declaring-"Then I'll change all of that, even the past!"

Yoite hesitated for a moment, then breathed-"But...you don't desire that, do you? Even if you think about it, you don't desire it. Because...Miharu." He looked up at him then, eyes glazed over. "You're kind. I will die soon, but-" A gloved hand stroked Miharu's cheek softly, the fabric feeling rough against his skin. "You have to live."

"Thank you, Miharu." A cold pair of lips pressed against his forehead, brief and fleeting. Putting his chin on top of the boy's head, Yoite continued, words so soft that Miharu had to strain to hear them above the wind. "For not asking anything about me, yet staying by my side-for looking at me even when there was no reason to-for never-letting go of my hand.

"So...if you are so sad that you cannot live, I want you to erase my existence. Because-" Yoite smiled, and the expression was alight like it had never been before. "At this moment, I am happy with just the fact that you're thinking of me. Our promise...we can fulfill it completely..."

"I will make you the king of Nabari!" A young Yoite had cried

"I will erase you-so don't die until then." Miharu had said.

(Your happiness is my happiness)

"I want you to grant my wish, so that you can smile and laugh in the future..." Both of Yoite's hands were holding Miharu's face, gazing at him like it was the last time to ever see it.

The sound of whistling snow was soothing, and Miharu and Yoite stayed huddled together, sharing a scarf that was made for one, but fit perfectly around them both.

"...Miharu." Yoite murmered after awhile. "Your okonomiyaki-they were warm, and they made me happy."

"Oh...that's good." Miharu's voice was trembling, and he had to swallow to contain the emotion. "I'll make them again."

"Yeah..." Yoite breathed, head resting against his shoulder. "Make them..."

**Author's Note:**

> (┌ﾟ дﾟ)┌ Thank you for reading. The ending is a bit cut off, but that's because the last stanza was a scene from the manga, and to prevent spoilers, I'm not going to revel what happens next, but those of you who read it
> 
> I know let's just all cry together okay
> 
> The Poem is Not mine-
> 
> On Innocence already Lost by Em (please check her out, her poetry is beautiful)


End file.
